The Dream Diary of an Emotinal Train Wreck
by luvs2smooch
Summary: He's gone, I tell myself, he's gone...So why does it still hurt? Sakura centric
1. Denial

**luvs2smooch: This is a little out there. I'm not really satisfied with it, and will probably change it a few times. **

I'm floating.

Floating. The simplest, most common and oft-registered stimuli that exists. The first sensation you ever contact. A womb. A child within, unborn, waiting patiently for life, breathing, sleeping, floating. The first sensation.

Bathing as a toddler, splashing about in tubs of thickly-bubbled liquid. Water everywhere. The peak of enjoyment. And then, the relax. The power-down, the energetic child slowly becoming nothing but a silent piece of cargo for the water. Floating.

_Floating…I'm floating. Why? _I silence my own question. It matters not why, nor how, nor anything at all. Nothing. Nothing matters. Right? That must be right, I tell myself, because nothing exists. You don't see anything, do you? All around, nothing but…well, nothing. The white…it's breathtaking, isn't it? The sheer lack of subject material all around you…

_No…I…I can't stand it…how did I get here? Where…where is everything? Where is anything? Christ, where…where…where am I…hhh…hhh…hhh…_

i can hear you breathe

_Who said that? I...hhh…hhh…I…c-can't…can't breathe..._

having trouble

_Where are you?…I—I'm going to die here, aren't I? I...I'm already going insane..._

who says you aren't already dead

_Where the hell are you?!? Who said that?!?...hhh... there's...there's no one here...no one at all..._

are your eyes even open

_Who...hhh... who are... you?_

well, you don't see me, so I must be you

_But…I don't even see myself…_

of course you don't

_What?...Why?_

because

_WHY?_

because there isn't anything

_What?...hhh..._

you cannot see anything, can you

_I...hhh...I see white..._

that's because there is nothing to see

_But...hhh...where...hhh...where is everything..._

there isn't

_What do...hh...what do you mean?_

there isn't anything

_hh...how is...that p...hh...possible?_

you sure do ask a lot of questions

_Well you...hhh... sure aren't help...hh...helping..._

trouble breathing again

_Shut up...hh..._

just say it

_Say...hh...what?_

that little 'p' word

_That l...hh...little 'p'--you want me to..._

just say it

_I...h...f-fine...h...p-please help...h...help me..._

_...w-where...h...where did you...h...hello?...I...h...h...d-damn...I--hhh! Hhh..._

There you go. Isn't that better?

_M-much better, actually...t-thank you..._

Hmm? What's wrong?

_I t-thought...I thought..._

Thought I had abandoned you?

_Yes...and your voice...it's much clearer now._

It should be. You just let me into your mentality one more fraction by allowing me to help.

_So you're...invading my--my mind?_

Well, it sounds quite brutish when you put it that way, doesn't it?

_I don't believe in euphemisms._

I suppose that is a rather smart practice.

_Yes, I've found that out myself. But what about you? Who are you?_

Think about it for a sec. Getting anything? No? Well, what did I say earlier?

_That there isn't...that there isn't anything here?_

Exactly. So where am I?

_Nowhere?_

Good answer, but it's a lot simpler than that; I am nothing.

_How is that possible?_

Because you are nothing.

_What?_

You are nothing, and neither am I.

_But...I--I exist...I have a name--_

You did.

_No! I still do...I do..._

So what is it?

_...Um..._

I'm waiting.

_...well..._

Any time now...

_Okay, so I don't remember it. That doesn't mean a thing._

It's nice to think that, isn't it? That you really aren't non-existent, that you have some degree of meaning, that what you were doing had some purpose to it...

_What I was doing?_

Oh, yes. You used to frolic about, ignorant and arrogant, chasing foolish dreams and killing yourself in the practice.

_What?_

But now, no. Oh, no. Now, you are nothing.

_What are you talking about?_

Nothing, nothing at all...

_ANSWER ME!_

Calm yourself, please.

_Well--_

Listen, as it is quite simple; you were something. Now you are not. And why?

_...Why?_

Because it leads to perfection...to perfection...

_But--I don't want--_

Perfection...perfection...perfect nothingness...

_What are you--?_

PERFECTION, SAKURA, THAT IS WHERE I"VE BROUGHT YOU...IN OUR PERFECTION WE HAVE BECOME ONE...ONE...

_SHUT UP! JUST--_

* * *

"SHUT UP!" I scream at the ceiling, jerking up violently, angry at a phantom that has fled my mind. I sit up tentatively and look up. Shudder and wipe the sweat, mingled with tears, from my face. The whitish covers draped across my shoulders contrast sharply with the sheer black of the night, and I feel some odd longing to be like them...nothing but a slate wiped clean from the face of humanity... 

The dream is still with me, and the feeling, that insidious floating, remains, sending shivers across my spine. That voice...it sounded annoyingly, awkwardly familiar...where did I know it? It has haunted me before, that I know, taunting me, as its identification does now. What did it keep on saying? 'Perfect nothingness'...what did it mean?

I laugh. I know what it means, I know how it applies to me, I just don't know why Mr. Voice repeated it as he did. But then, does it matter? In the grand scale of all the stupid things I've done, does it _really _matter?

I brush aside the covers and stand up warily. Balancing on my own two aching feet seems nigh impossible. I manage to shuffle over to the window and lean against it, gazing out at what lies below and above me. The stars burn bright in the absolute darkness of late night, serenading the even brighter moon, and all the lights of the village, lamps and lanterns and candles, have been shushed for the nightly resting. The cobblestones look like rounded coal under the sleek sheen of fresh rain. _It is all very picturesque_, I think, _but it does little, if anything, to ease this quell. _

_Of course, _I think,_ It will leave on its own again. Then I'll finally fall asleep again, wake up, and go on through my day denying this problem, slowly working my way through it, forcing myself to take the hard way, to hurt myself more, because this is the 'right' way to do things. The 'right' way to see everything, the 'right' way to silence the many pangs of torture that follow me so._

_And all..all because of him. And because of me, I suppose. _

He's gone, it's over and he's gone. No, it never even began, because I never got any guts. He's been gone long, so long, and at this point I'm done with the hope. I don't want it anymore...and all I have now is hatred.

Maybe that's what it means...I turned myself to nothing in the search of perfection, in my search for him, and I did destroy myself, I did. And now, I've left myself empty, devoid of my stupid dreams. And through all the hurt...well--it feels good. I feel like I've gotten somewhere.

_But it still hurts..._

...Maybe that's what it's supposed to be. The lack is excruciating, and at the same time, the goal I never sought but propelled myself to, willingly only in my deepest levels of subconscious, with each wrong step and each little screw-up.

And that's why I was floating...

_Floating in my own denial..._

**Angsty, isn't it? **


	2. Dancing

**Luvs2smooch: I changed the title. Sorry.**

The Dream Diary of an Emotional Train Wreck

A hall. Of some sort. Massive. Round. Towering French windows draped with thin, smooth curtains of varied colors. A slight, cool breeze from the open windows lifted them up and in and morphed them into a colorful 3-D collage. Lean, stained oak paneling lay underfoot, leaving the room with a distinct scent, close to that of a wine cellar. The falling sun reflected off the wood in a beautiful show of dying grace.

And nothing else. The place was utterly empty, void of any furnishing.

Then suddenly, it wasn't.

I was in it…

And I could barely feel it, but…I was dancing. Forth and back, a non-existent rhythm synchronizing his feet…

_Whose feet?_

Don't be silly, my dear…just look up…

_Who…who are you?_

Look up…

I did. It was…him. He whose name I hated, whose face I despised.

_But…to dance with you…_

Thoughts raced each other through my head, and the one that reached the finish line before logic picked it off sounded a little like this: Do it._ It's damn worth it._

We stopped. I stood up and took my own weight, hardly realizing that he had been holding me up prior. I smiled at him. His handsome face housed a quaint, pleased smile that I had never before seen cross it. His deep, onyx eyes betrayed the simple fact that he wanted this, too. A small, fluttering sigh escaped my lips. I took a stance and gripped his hand, tightly at first, nervously, then loosened up. Placed the other tentatively on his shoulder…

He took it all in stride and smiled at me again. I felt my face redden and looked down. He brought it back up with an outstretched finger and I gazed into his eyes. We began to step, eyes still interlocked. Lightly, at first, to and across, still lacking any coherent beat. We sped up, gradually. Stepped farther. Soon we were pivoting across the hall. He held me close and flung me out, holding the tip of his hand. Through the hall we went, and as the sun went down, we only gained momentum. Leaping through the air, stepping and running...

...Dancing...with him...without a single coherent care in the damn world, I was dancing with him...

_But why?_

Because, my dear, because you must wake up...

_What?_

It is time to wake once more to the pointless life you lead in the silly world you hate...

_No..._

And suddenly, the expansive room became nothing but white, a clear stain in my mind. Nothing...where was he?

He's gone. Just say it.

_But..._

Say it, Sakura, for god's sake, say it! Say that he's gone!

_He--he's gone...It's over...and he's--_

* * *

I start in bed, cold sweat dripping down my face. Eyes wide, ears buzzing, temples throbbing. "Gone," I whisper to myself, finishing the sentence I had started in what seemed like an entirely foreign world. I see the white sheets thrown haphazardly across the floor, and guess I had been tossing a bit in my dream. I sit up, feel my hair cling to me in sweaty clumps, hear the unpainted fan beating a faint thumping rthyhm out of the stagnant night air, see the pure light of the moon forming the shadow of a window frame across the uncarpeted floor. I think for a moment, see his face in my mind, and remind myself that he really is gone.

Then I lay back down. Curl myself up. Hope to whittle away the rest of this deathless night without any pointless dreams to surge my hopes back up again, to remind me of the stupid dreams I had once harbored, but at the same time, another part of me actually wishes for even the slightest wavering glance of his face again, so I cry, cry because I can't even agree with myself about it. Cry and think about what I wanted, what I had, what I'll never even get.

A typical night, really.

**Please review!**


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